Error: Invalid Argument
by emberfire411
Summary: Sam really wished his father would've learned to program one particular thing before he died. Or rather, one particular ISO.


"What do you think of this one?"

Sam didn't even pause to look up from his magazine. He was right in the middle of a critic's review of his changes to Encom, and his blood was already starting to boil. The overall tone of the piece was incredibly smug, as the author constantly stated that it wouldn't take him much longer to destroy Kevin Flynn's empire. Yet he sought out every specific critique there was, circling them with a pen to talk to Alan about later. Better to be safe than sorry.

"Sam!" the voice repeated, sounding slightly annoyed this time.

"Right, right… looks great, Quorra."

"You aren't even looking!"

"I did look!"

The magazine was ripped from his hand. "I'm serious, Sam! I need your opinion on this."

He sighed and tried to grab it out of her hand. She easily evaded him, and when it became obvious she wasn't letting go, he leaned back in the chair. "Quorra, I'm sitting in a bright orange velvet chair in a department store, and I've been watching you try on dresses for the past hour. And even if I _did_ say something about one of the two-dozen you have in there, you wouldn't listen. My opinion stopped mattering a long time ago."

Quorra rolled her eyes. Even if he had made a good case, Sam knew she wouldn't admit he was right. "It would still be nice if you tried to help." She said pointedly, going back behind the curtain. She tossed the magazine at him with precision, and Sam barely managed to grasp it before it bounced off his chest.

"Why do you care about this so much?" he asked, marking his page and setting the magazine aside. "It's just a formal dinner thing."

"It is not just 'a formal dinner thing'. This is your first dinner as the head of Encom, and if I'm going with you I want to make a good impression."

Sam chuckled. "It's not necessary. They're just a bunch of greedy politicians and CEOs who're in it for the money. And most of them already have some interesting opinions of me," he added under his breath, casting a look at the article practically swimming in ink.

Quorra's head popped out from between the curtains, a few strands of hair standing on end from the static of the curtain. "Then it's the perfect opportunity to prove them wrong."

"It's not that simple. I can't just wave a few hundred-dollar bills and expect them to respect me. I have to work for it."

"But it's your first time meeting them. Flynn always said you never get a second chance to make a first impression."

Sam drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair, remembering how his father used those exact words to get him to behave on the first day of school. "I know, I know..."

From behind the curtains, he heard Quorra chuckle. "You're nervous, aren't you?"

"Of course I'm nervous. I just kicked Richard Mackey off the Encom board and had Alan take his place. I fired almost everyone important from Encom and replaced them with former employees or people fresh out of college." He sighed. "Who am I kidding, Quorra? They're gonna eat me for breakfast."

It was silent behind the curtain. "…Isn't this a dinner we're going to?"

Sam laughed. He sometimes forgot how short Quorra's stay in the real world had been; it wasn't even three months since he'd gone into the Grid. "Relax," he said, "it's just a figure of speech."

His friend emerged from behind the curtain, dressed in a sea green knee length dress. "You seem to be keen on odd phrases like that in this world. I just don't understand it." She remarked as she twirled in front of the mirror. "What do you think of this one?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "You look like a piece of seaweed."

Quorra stopped mid-twirl and glared at him. "Thanks a lot."

"You said to give my opinion."

"Fine. So what do _you_ suggest I wear?"

"I don't know! Something more…you." He stood up and went to look at the dresses she had in the changing room. "Back on the Grid, when there was something formal going on; what did you wear then?"

"Well I really didn't go out on the Grid too often." She paused for a moment. "I remember going to a formal party for the ISOs once, back when we thought we could make peace with the other programs. We really didn't dress up, but you could put things in your hair or wear a bracelet. We didn't have the option of getting new suits; Clu thought that gave the programs too much free will."

"Now there's something I wish was same in the worlds," Sam muttered, moving dress after dress aside. They were all too wrong looking for Quorra; they had weird patterns, they didn't look formal enough, they looked too much like a shirt than a dress…

"I just want to make a good impression," she repeated, looking through a few dresses she'd already tried on, thinking maybe one wasn't as bad as she'd thought.

"You're trying to hard to be like people in this world. You're an ISO; you're different. You need to show that difference."

"Fashion expertise from the guy who's been sitting with his nose in a magazine for the last hour."

"Hey if it gets me out of here _I'll_ wear a dress… All right, what about this?" he held up a shining silver sleeveless romper with a transparent blue piece of fabric falling from the waist to serve as the skirt.

Quorra raised an eyebrow. "It _does _look like something from the Grid…but is it a typical formal dress?"

Sam sighed and handed it to her as he went back to that dreaded orange chair. "Just try it on. For me."

She huffed, but still pulled the curtain closed. Sam heard the rustle of fabric, and after a moment went back to circling things in the magazine article. "Women," he said under his breath. "Now _there's_ something Dad should've figured out how to program."

"Did you say something, Sam?"

"Not a thing." He replied, trying to keep the smirk off his face.

A few minutes later Quorra emerged from the behind the curtain. "How does it look?"

He glanced up, and his jaw promptly dropped to the floor.

A small smirk formed on Quorra's lips. "What? Do you not like it?"

"No! I-I mean, no; I like it. It looks great." He stuttered, eyeing the dress. It looked flawless, like it was made for her. It was modern, had the same tones as the colors he'd seen on the Grid, and left just enough to the imagination without being tacky. In short, Sam felt like he was back in middle school; the geeky kid starting at the pretty girl across the room trying not to drool. Except he was pretty sure no one in his middle school was a spontaneous generation created in a computer that could slice him clean in half with the right tools.

"Are you being serious?" Quorra asked, heading towards the mirror. "Or are you just saying that to get out of here?"

Why was he fumbling with words like this? I wasn't like he'd never seen Quorra in a dress before. But there was something about her just looked so…stunning. "I'm completely serious. You look…like a million bucks."

"Think it'll be alright for the dinner?" she asked, twirling in front of the mirror. The ISO mark on her arm glowed faintly, though it looked more like a tattoo than anything.

"Absolutely."

She met his eyes in the mirror, and Sam hoped he looked more confident then he felt. That hope seemed short-lived, however, when she smirked again. "Well, look who's suddenly taken an interest in fashion."

"What? I am not! I'm just… ready to get out of here."

"Sure." Quorra smirked. She leaned down and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "You sold me, Sam. I'll get the dress."

She went back behind the curtains to change, which Sam was grateful for since his cheeks were turning red. After a few moments of sitting there in daft shock, he had enough sense to grab his magazine and stand up, stretching his legs for the first time in what felt like hours. He caught his facial expression in the mirror and saw he was smiling.

He could get used to her kissing him.

"Alright!" Quorra emerged for the final time back in her regular clothes, the dress in hand.

Sam shook his head, trying to look less like a love-struck kid and more like he was annoyed at the time they'd spent here (which he was). "Can we go now?"

"Of course." She smirked, already walking out of the dressing room. "Just as soon as I get a pair of shoes!"

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><p><strong>Hello all!<strong>

**So this was my first Tron fic; I hope you all liked it! I've always been interested in all the scenarios that would happen after the movie because, let's face it, we all knew Sam would be dragged into a department store sometime with Quorra. It's a bit drabble-y, but hey; why not?**

**Since this is my first story in the fandom, any review/feedback would be much appreciated. Thanks guys!**

**ember**


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